A/N Hey, all! I intended to post the first reaping chapter today but after I finished writing it I was really unhappy with it so I decided to start over. So, instead, please enjoy some more behind-the-scenes looks at the Capital. There are still plenty of spots left on the tribute roster so if you haven't submitted your allotted 3 tributes yet then now is your chance! Hope you enjoy the chapter~

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Wine glasses clinked together under a canopy of bright yellow lights. The royal purple of the liquid inside splashed upwards towards the tip of the glass, threatening to spill out and land on the expensive suits of the men holding the glasses.

Brutus took a sip of his wine. He missed the days when he could feel the liquid against his lips, but after a few plastic surgeries to fix his aging face he lost all feeling in them.

"I think my favorite game of yours was the 82nd," President Noctis mused. "The arena design was just exquisite! The jagged cliffs, the spike-filled ravines…"

Pride parted Brutus' lips. "Ah, an excellent choice Mr. President. And I suppose it makes sense- they say that you never forget your first." He swirled the wine in his glass, watching it turn into a whirlpool. "The youngest president of Panem… only overseeing your 3rd ever games… What's a hot shot like you doing hanging around with a controversial old bird like me?"

"You know I don't feel that way… behind closed doors, anyway."

"I understand. You have appearances to upkeep. It's not your fault that the public no longer has taste."

Noctis fought to contain the wince of disappointment on his face. Brutus was a cocky man, there was no doubt. Frankly, even in the face of all the public's criticism, he had the right to be cocky. His work as the Head Gamemaker in the first games after the Mocking Jay rebellion was instrumental in getting the districts back under control. However, there was still something off-putting about his overabundance of confidence.

"How you brush off your critics so easily astounds me."

"Oh, I don't brush them off. I loathe them. And that's exactly why I chose not to acknowledge them. They can talk, talk, talk but nobody can do what I do." Brutus took another sip of his beverage, allowing a moment of silence to penetrate the room. The moment lingered until he set his drink down and the arrogance on his face disappeared. Brutus gripped the arm of his chair and pulled himself upwards into a more proper posture. He looked to the young man beside him. "Now, as much as I enjoy our chats, Mr. President… what do you really want?"

Noctis smirked at the realization of his true intentions.

"As I'm sure you know, the next games… are a milestone." Noctis began to fiddle with one of his silver dreadlocks in thought. "Ten years since the attempted rebellion-"

"Ah, then it's a celebration!"

"Some people don't quite see it that way. Some people think it will insight unrest in the districts again."

"Noctis, Noctis, Noctis… Has your presidency already turned you soft? The Districts are big kids, they can handle it."

"Forgive me, Brutus, but I inherited a country on the verge of collapse but now… we're this close to repair. If something were to happen…"

"Well then, I'll make sure that nothing bad happens, how about that?"

Noctis cocked his head to the side slightly in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"If any of the tributes try any… funny business in the arena, I'll make sure they regret it."

Noctis shot upright in his chair, shock in his eyes. "Are you suggesting that we rig the games?"

"Not at all!" Brutus said as he picked up his wine glass. "All I am suggesting is that we give the districts a little show of power this year. The tributes can still try their luck, but if they try our patience instead then they'll see the true power of these games."

Noctis moved to take another sip of his drink, only then noticing it was empty. He turned and beckoned to Elsa, who had been quietly sitting at her desk doing paperwork.

"More wine, dear?"

His words seemingly started Elsa at first, but once she adjusted from being dragged out of her intense focus, she quickly made her way over to the President with a bottle of wine. Meanwhile, Noctis combed over the thoughts in his mind. For years, the rulers of Panem had subscribed to the idea that more power and more violence would keep the districts in line. This idea had only been strengthened after the Mockingjay's attempted rebellion. The one time the rulers showed mercy by allowing two victors only led to chaos. Luckily, they were able to rectify their error by killing the Mockingjay and her husband in the 75th games- foiling the rebellion's plan- but ever since then, any and all suggestions of peaceful solutions or negotiations regarding the districts were dismissed. With this in mind, Noctis couldn't help but think that Brutus' idea made sense. Maybe a small showing of power would ensure that things went smoothly- even if it meant disgracing the sanctity of the games.

"If I give you permission to do this, do you promise that this power will not go to your head?" He finally asked just as Elsa approached and began to refill his drink.

"Whatever do you mean, Mr. President?"

"You will not rig the games. Each tribute will still have an equal chance of winning. The only time you will use this new power is when you have to… in order to keep the districts in line."

"Of course, Mr. President!" Brutus said. "I would never disgrace my position and the games like that."

Suddenly, something changed. There was no change in Noctis' expression nor his posture or words. However, the air in the room suddenly went cold. Goosebumps formed on Brutus's skin and his heartbeat spiked. Something hostile had entered the room in a mere instant.

"You promise me this, Brutus?" President Noctis said, his words slow and stern.

"Y-yes."

"I want you to remember this promise. Because if you abuse your power. If you even try to mess with these historic games. If there is even the smallest allegation against you... I will not hesitate to have you killed." Noctis stuck out his hand, signaling for Elsa to stop pouring. Without a word, she left the men alone in the cold. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. President. I understand."